


I love you in ways the universe would not recognize

by mostlikelydefinentlymad



Series: under 1k fic [4]
Category: Gattaca (1997)
Genre: AU where nobody dies, FIx It, Fluff, M/M, POV Eugene Morrow, POV First Person, This fandom needs more love, post titan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 12:05:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10162676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostlikelydefinentlymad/pseuds/mostlikelydefinentlymad
Summary: "Say his name," he pleads.I know what Vincent is asking for. He is desperate to know if I cared for him before the blood, the perfect heartbeat, the fusion of two people into one and I hate that he does not know.





	

 

Vincent is fussing with his shirt collar and grimacing when it refuses to cooperate. We're two months past his trip to Titan and that many instances he will never know of: me, curled up inside of the incinerator, me dragging my body to a wobbling wheelchair, me breaking in half.

"How do you see me?"

Vincent frowns at the unexpected interruption and gives the stubborn collar one last tug before regarding me with confusion. "In what manner?" 

The instinct to wheel away from him is suffocating but I meet his baby blue's anyway. They really are prettier than mine. "In matters of love." Even I have no idea where I'm going with this or what answer I'm hoping for. 

Suddenly the collar of his shirt is very interesting as he plucks and stretches at it, pointedly avoiding my gaze. "You could date," he states. I was not asking for permission nor am I interested in anyone who isn't _him_  - it's a real kick in the pants. 

Nervously-

Him. 

_Vincent Freeman._

"I could but it would be a waste of time, Vincent. There is only one who holds my attention." Surely he has noticed how I watch the muscles in his back as he walks away, how I have studied the slope of his mouth enough that I could draw it from memory with startling clarity. 

Vincent gapes and the front door is  _right_ there but he is frozen in place. "What lucky lady might that be?"

"I've a picture of her," I say. He believes me because this is what we do: we bury the truth in an easy lie. I make as if to pull a photo from an interior pocket of my chair and he strides over and squats beside of me. 

(I do not feel small and insignificant when we are at the same level)

"I regret to inform you that she's a horrid person with short legs and a weak heart," I begin, teasing. A muscle in his cheek twitches and I have to swallow hard before continuing. "And," I trace his jaw with an unsteady touch, leaving microscopic parts of myself on the warmth of his skin. He shudders and leans into the palm of my hand like a cat eager for any sign of affection. "She's rather fond of space though I cannot imagine why. But here's the kicker."

Vincent's eyes darken in anticipation and he's moving closer by the second, inch by inch.

 

My other palm cradles the opposite cheek and I find it difficult to speak past the shadow of his lashes as he closes his eyes but he must know this. "They call her an invalid but I see her,  _him,_ as an intricate arrangement of genes that got it right the first time."

 

His right hand skims up my thigh and I cannot feel it but I imagine his hand moves as his lips might, slow and deliberate. The tips of my fingers find his mouth and I shut my own eyes in order to better take him in. I have given him the very heart of me and yet I could not touch the edge of his skin until now. He tenderly kisses a fingertip before gently removing my hand and holding it. 

"Say his name," he pleads. I know what he's asking for. He is desperate to know if I cared for him before the blood, the perfect heartbeat, the fusion of two people into one and I hate that he does not know. 

I hardly recognize my own voice, breathy and wrecked, when I speak and he moans low in his throat at the sound of it. "Vincent," I whisper. 

He drops to his knees and presses his mouth to mine, hungrily nips my bottom lip, licks the seam until they part, _devours_. His lips are pinkened and slick, tongue slowing to caress mine with such raw intimacy that I might cry out his name if my mouth were not otherwise preoccupied. Our hands are everywhere at once - the nape of his neck, a smooth jawline, burrowing into hair, his and mine - ours - intertwined. 

 

(If I could but give him my heart, I would do it. Name a price, I would do anything for him)

 

We break apart to catch our breath and he's laughing boyishly and showing every tooth. "Vincent," he echo's. Not Jerome, he is Vincent Freeman; the invalid with a heart that loves loudly despite it's weakness, he is the reason I live and breathe. Vincent has been my everything long before Titan, eons before Irene. 

I cannot help but smile back at him until my cheeks ache. "It's nice to meet you, _Vincent_."

* * *

 

 +

**EPILOGUE**

+

 

I broke a mirror two Wednesday's ago and saw myself in the jagged shards, each careening toward the floor in a silent freefall.

As I reached over the arm of my chair to retrieve a sliver a small bit pierced the skin of my first finger and bled, red and wonderfully bright. Intrigued and delighted I rubbed my finger and thumb together, smearing it along the other fingers and savoring the slippery texture. Such a vibrant color brings to mind painting and claiming and I nearly want to trace a streak of it across Vincent's jawline until he tips his head back, knowing I will reach for him.

My Vincent's body is a crooked yet pristine canvas that I worship and kiss with reverence. May my soul never forget the way it felt to wash the world away and replace it with the _thump thump [pause] thump thump [pause]_ of Vincent's heart pounding under my cheek. 

 

+

 

After the mirror broke, I saw myself in many splendored irregular triangles, recognized my own ecstatic reflection for the first time.

 

(Vincent Freeman, I love you in the pauses. I love you in ways the universe would not recognize)

 

 


End file.
